Nameless
by Oroko
Summary: In all my years of teaching history at Domino High, I have never hated a student more than Mutou Yuugi. [Post–series oneshot]


In all my years of teaching history at Domino High, I have never hated a student more than Mutou Yuugi. He never makes a scene in class or fails tests or talks back to the teacher; he's small and polite and studious…the perfect student, right? Wrong.

I always hated the way he spiked and dyed his hair and wore that leather choker and that huge, golden pendant every day, trying to make himself look like the punk-rebel he wished he could be. Then he became a part of that "Duel Monsters" cult, putting a trading card game above everything else in his life, cutting days, even_ weeks _at a time from school for tournaments. They started calling him the "Yu-Gi-Oh," the "King of Games," practically _worshipping_ him (he acted like it never went to his head, but I saw right through him).

But more than anything, it's his _attitude_ I can't stand. The way he sits in my class like he's king of the world, too high and mighty to listen to a word I say. He doesn't lean over to a friend and giggle and talk about whatever might be more entertaining than ancient world history like the other miscreants; no, he's the only one so far above me, he has the gall to talk to _himself_. Always leaning back in his chair, staring into space, smiling randomly and snickering at any given moment, as though he's listening to some voice in his head.

"_I'm trying to concentrate, other me!"_ he whispered once. Out loud, and during a _test_, no less. Of all the ways to draw attention to oneself, that had to be the dumbest I'd ever heard. And when I scold him, how does he act? Sweet and innocent, of course. _"I'm so sorry, Akimoto-sensei!"_

Please. Am I the _only_ one who can see through his charade?

Just recently, he returned from yet _another_ leave of absence from school. It had something to do with those damned trading cards, no doubt. Apparently, it was a vacation to Egypt with Mazaki and those two thugs that follow him around. Coincidentally, my class is still in the middle of its unit on Ancient Egypt. I glance at my lesson plan for the day before looking up at the class.

Mutou is sitting in the front, as always, scribbling down some notes before class, as always. But, unlike before, he's not wearing that gaudy, golden pendant, nor is he wearing that false, goofy grin. It's strange…ever since he returned from that trip, that cheerful, innocent act of his has just _died_. He's lost that spark in his eyes that I've learned to hate. It's almost as if he's fallen into depression. And I can't help but wonder…what happened to him?

Assuring myself that I shouldn't worry about it, I sigh and begin the class.

--------

"There is a legend, however, that Akunumkanon's son reigned for a short time after his death…"

I can hear the sound of pen on paper as students scrawl down their notes.

"Myth claims that he was a 'great king who saved Egypt from the depths of darkness, only to be forgotten as his very name was lost unto the sands of time.' There is no proof, however, that this 'nameless pharaoh' even _existed_, much less ruled…"

A loud gasp interrupts my lecture. I look up to see who made the sound.

"Something wrong, Miss Mazaki?" I ask irritably. She shakes her head, but says not a word. I look at the rest of the class. Everyone else is completely indifferent. Wait…everyone except Jounouchi and Honda. Like Mazaki, they look as though they've seen a ghost. Noticing a pattern with these strange reactions, my eyes dart to Mutou. He's not in shock. He's not taking notes. He's just sitting there, staring at his desk. I can't see his eyes through those lighting bolt-shaped bangs of his. If I didn't know better, I'd say he's stopped _breathing_.

_What is _with_ these kids?_ I ask myself, trying to ignore their faces as I continue with the lesson.

"However, even though there is no record of Akunumkanon's son becoming pharaoh, there is a theory that the successor may have been his nephew—"

"Atemu."

I blink, looking to see who has interrupted me now.

It was…Mutou?

"Excuse me?"

"The nameless pharaoh you were talking about," he says quietly, without looking up from his desk. "That's his name. It's Atemu."

I stand there, dumbfounded. Who does this kid think he is?

"I'm afraid…I don't understand, Mutou-kun," I say, trying to be as reasonable as possible. "I just said that the man never even—"

"HIS NAME IS ATEMU!" he shrieks, slapping his palms on the desk and standing. I stumble backwards, taken aback by the outburst. "His name is _Atemu_," he cries again, tears filling his eyes. "_And he doesn't deserve to be forgotten!_"

The entire class is gaping at him. "Yuugi…" Mazaki breathes, standing from her desk and rushing to his side. I realize that he's shaking with sobs.

"What in the world…?" I hear myself mumbling. Mazaki puts an arm around his shoulders, trying to calm him down. She looks up at me with pleading eyes.

"Sensei…" she says quietly, her own voice on the verge of tears. "Could you pl...please excuse Yuugi from class?"

I open my mouth to give her an answer, but no sound comes out. The incident has left my mind frozen.

"The lesson today, it…there are some painful memories attached for him. I don…I don't think he should have to hear…" her voice trails off into a whisper.

What am I supposed to do?

"Alright," I say quietly. "Please take him to the nurse's office, Miss Mazaki."

"We'll go too!" Jonouchi cries, standing quickly. Honda mimics the action.

"That won't be neces—"

"Please!"

I hesitate, then agree.

As his three friends escort Mutou away, I watch quietly, boggled with confusion. The rest of the class has begun to whisper frantically.

"Quiet, everyone," I urge them until silence is restored, and I continue with the lesson as though nothing has happened.

* * *

Nyaa...an idea I've been playing with for a long time now. Just my randomness coming out in a one-shot, as always. 

Edit: NO, this was not supposed to be under the 'humor' category. I apologize for that error.

Feed me?


End file.
